Altered Paths
by Silver Spider
Summary: Everyone in the Redemption Squad was supposed to come in with a clean slate, but no history can ever truly be ignored. "Bad Guys"-inspired one-shot. Robyn/Dingo. Loosely tied to my first one, Nightcaps.


_**Author's Note:**_ Another Robyn/Dingo fic, this one set in Paris in some near future. The team is fully established, but things aren't running nearly as smoothly as one would hope, especially with the two resident humans. Might be very loosely tied to my first one. Enjoy and please review!

**Altered Paths**

**By: Silver Spider**

Yama had been slightly concerned that the mission briefing, which was set to start after sundown, had begun without him, but when he made his way to the conference room at the lower level of their base beneath the streets of Paris, Matrix and Fang were standing outside. He did not need superior gargoyle hearing to be able to pick up the yelling coming from inside. Fang smirked and nodded the answer to his silent question.

"Enter at your own risk. Mommy and daddy are fighting again," the mutate jabbed a finger at the closed door then quickly added, "don't even think about it," when he realized that Matrix was about to ask something along the lines of how was it possible for Dingo and Hunter to his parents.

"What has happened?" Yama inquired.

"The usual. He asked what the new mission was about. She told him. He flipped."

"Is it so serious?"

Before he could reply, the door burst open and clearly very angry Dingo stalked out followed by Hunter whose usually calm and composed face was beginning to show the signs of exasperation, like that of a parent going through the familiar motions of trying to get a wayward child to clean up his toys.

"You're being unreasonable," she accused. "It's only one evening and for a few hours at that."

" 's not happenin'! Sucker someone else into this bullsh..."

"Pardon," Yama interrupted, "but _what_, precisely, is not happening?"

Hunter looked at Dingo, who thrust his hand out in a well-tell-'em gesture before leaning back against the wall, still fuming. Not thrilled at doing the mission briefing in the middle of the hallway, the tall blond woman sighed.

"The Louvre has recently acquired several pieces of artwork that may be of interest to some of the underground organizations on our radar, specifically the Illuminati."

"They're not gonna try to steal the Mona Lisa again, are they?" Fang put in.

"You've been reading too much pulp fiction," Hunter told him. "They never tried to steal it. Probably because they know it's authentic."

"Seriously?" the mutate was impressed. "How do you know?"

"Because I know who has the real one. Getting back to the subject at hand, there is a private party there tonight to show the art to a very select few exclusive guests before it goes on public display tomorrow. We have two invitations; one for myself and one for a guest."

"And I said 'no'," Dingo put in angrily. "Not getting' stuffed into a tux an' mixin' with the _bourgeoisie_ for some stupid paintings."

"Harry..."

"You wanna send me to prison? Slap on the cuffs," he thrust out his wrists for emphasis. "I look better in neon orange than that damn monkey suit."

"Harry!"

"What!"

"I want to have the others stationed outside the building in various locations, but I need someone on the inside to watch my back in case anyone decides to strike tonight. I don't need to explain why only you qualify."

_Well, that's that_, Fang thought. Whether or not she knew it, Hunter had just made the check-mate move. Dingo would never refuse to backup a teammate, especially, as the others suspected, when that teammate was their illustrious leader. The former mercenary continued to glare daggers at her but after a moment his shoulders sagged in defeat.

"Fine," he muttered.

"Good. You two can go collect whatever you think you might need," she told Yama and Fang then said to Matrix, "I need to run an idea by you, so wait here." Finally she turned back to Dingo. "You need to see a tailor," he groaned. "I don't have anything on hand that would fit you. You're broader than Jonny, but shorter than Jason."

"Who the bloody hell are Jonny and Jason?" it came out with more anger than he'd intended.

"My brothers," Hunter replied pointedly.

"Oh... I knew that," he felt like a complete idiot, mainly because he really _had_ known, but somehow conveniently forgot at the most inopportune moment. Fang burst out laughing, and Dingo suspected only his Samurai discipline kept Yama from chuckling as well. Matrix just stood there, the featureless face of his humanoid form blank as usual.

"Of course you did," Hunter's face betrayed no emotion. "Be ready at eight thirty sharp. We're expected at nine."

* * * * * * * * * *

Harry 'Dingo' Monmouth could not decide what looked more ridiculous: his mohawk with the pristine new suit or the suit itself. He thought that whoever prepared it must have sprayed starch on with malicious glee. He'd complained about not having any place to hide a sidearm before Hunter informed him that nothing mechanical would be allowed within the museum.

"No cell phones or any other conventional communication devices, cameras, or other electronics of any kind. Not even a watch that's too fancy," she'd said. "Security is extremely tight. Weapons would be far too much trouble to smuggle in."

"And if the usual pile o' shit goes down?" he demanded.

"We call for backup."

"By magic?" Dingo waved his fingers in front of her face. "You jus' said no communication devices. Fine time to start playin' by the rules."

"I said no 'conventional' communication devices," she held up her finger, and Dingo had to squint to see the silvery smudge.

"Trouble puttin' on nail polish?" he cracked.

She gave him a hard look. "Don't be a smart-ass, Harry. These are Matrix's nanites."

"Excuse me, Hunter, but that is not accurate," neither had noticed the puddle of tiny robots that had moved between them until it suddenly coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape. "They are not _my_ nanites. They _are_ me, what make up..."

"We get the picture," Dingo interrupted, his patience running thin.

"They're small enough not to be noticed by metal detectors and can transmit any sound within several yards of their position directly to your ear drum and remove themselves when they are no longer needed," Hunter added, familiar with his uneasiness about being so intemently bonded with the AI.

"Thanks heaps," he muttered.

That was at seven thirty. Nearly an hour later, standing in the foyer of what passed as their living quarters, he was wondering for the millionth time what on earth he was doing in bloody Paris, France instead of the outback. He tugged at his tie, but that did nothing to make him feel any more comfortable. At least the nanites would begin transmitting only when they were within the museum, for which he was grateful. Dingo did not want more arbitrary noise in his head than there had to be. Besides, at least one of his teammates was loud enough as it was. Fang took one look at his suit and howled in laughter.

"Oh, man, it hurts just to look at you. That chick really has you whipped. Makes me glad I ain't human no more."

Luckily for him, fate had apparently decided to let up on Dingo for the first – and possibly last – time that evening, when the mutate's comment was interrupted by the arrival of the head of the Redemption Squad. If he had anything else to say, Fang quickly shut his mouth.

Robyn Canmore looked stunning. Her platinum blond hair had golden highlights and was lifted slightly and pinned with two diamond-encrusted clips at either temple. The long sleek dress of various hues of light blue went down to her ankles, emphasizing her tall well-shaped figure. The front was fairly conservative, with an off-the-shoulder neckline, but the bare back left little to the imagination.

"Bet you wish you were still human now, mate," Dingo whispered to the mutate, but both continued to stare. To everyone's surprise, it was Matrix who spoke first.

"You look very lovely, Hunter."

All eyes that had seconds ago been so focused on her now turned to the AI.

"You can judge human female beauty?" Yama asked much more eloquently than either of the others would have managed.

"My database instructed that I should compliment her. Was that not an appropriate statement?" the AI looked as confused as its emotionless features would allow.

"Not appropriate would 'ave been whatever the kitten thinkin'," Dingo nodded his head in Fang's direction.

"That was fine, Matrix. Thank you," Hunter inclined her head graciously, then turned a completely professional look on Yama and Fang. "Do you two understand your assignment?"

"Hang out on the roof while you two play in the sandbox of the rich and famous," Fang replied with a straight face.

"Yama?"

"We will conduct surveillance outside, exercising utter discretion, and report any suspicious activity," the Japanese gargoyle assured her.

"Without killing each other?" Fang double-checked. It was a well known fact that the mutate and the gargoyle did not get along.

"That costs extra," Dingo put in, and looking at Hunter, added, "And you call me a smart-ass."

"If you're ready, then go," she told the trio. "I prefer to have you all at your posts and out of sight before the first guests begin to arrive."

When they were gone, she turned her full attention to him.

"Are _you_ ready?"

"All 'cept for these," he held up the still unbuttoned wrists. "Can't for the life of me figure them out."

"Here," Hunter tried not to roll her eyes as she took his much larger hands into her own. A second later both cufflinks were firmly fastened. Dingo was impressed.

"You've done this before," he said. "For your brothers."

"Right. For my brothers," she smiled wistfully. "For Jonny, at least. Jason was always so independent, but Jonny never did figure them out."

For a moment, Hunter, leader of the Redemption Squad, was gone and Robyn Canmore stood in her place. It was for such a brief instance that an untrained eye might not have caught it, but Dingo had seen her very few vulnerable moments before and they usually came when she spoke of her family.

Then she took a deep breath and the mask was back on.

"Let's go."

* * * * * * * * * *

Almost immediately upon their arrival, Dingo solidified his dislike of Paris and any other part of France outside of their base of operations. He had never been too keen on setting up shop here in the first place – as if he had a choice – in part because he knew he'd be completely out of his element and in part because he did not speak a word of French. Robyn had assured him that there would be people from all over the world at the party so more likely than not, everyone would be speaking English. Small comfort.

But he did have to admit that the Louvre looked amazing that night. With the whole structure alight and the glass pyramids reflecting on the water, there was a magical quality about it that even the rugged tough Australian could not deny. The inside was no less beautiful, though Dingo was far less impressed with the artwork in question when they entered the main hall where the party was being held and the paintings displayed. People poured into the museum, so Hunter's definition of 'few exclusive guests' was beginning to appear looser and looser. At least the 'exclusive' part was accurate.

"How'd you manage to get an invite to this rage, anyway?" he asked her when they were inside.

"I know people," she replied simply. "Family connections."

"So that's why you're using your real name for once," he raised a brow. "What kind of 'connections' could a family of Scottish gargoyle hunters have in French high society?"

The question was answered not by her, but by the sound of excited laughter.

"Well, well, well," a men in his late thirties approached them, broad smile on his handsome face. "We have royalty among us. Robyn Canmore, as I live and breath. How long has it been?"

He kissed both of her cheeks in turn the French manner, and Dingo took an instant dislike to him. Robyn smiled warmly, playing the perfect aristocrat.

"Too long, Julian," she replied. "I've been abroad for some years."

"I see," the man continued to smile. "Alright, mystery woman. And who, may I ask, is your companion?"

"Henry Mercer," Dingo extended his hand, using the name they had agreed on. Robyn was known in these circles. Her name might have gotten them through the door, but he did not need to be recognized. Unless, of course, someone in the French high society was a fan of popular American television from a few years back.

"Ah, a man from down unde'. G'day, mate," he slapped Dingo's shoulder with an an atrocious imitation of his Australian accent. "Would you mind of I borrow your beautiful date for a few moments? There are some people here who would love to see her again."

"Don't suppose you'd take 'no' for an answer?" his tone made the man think he was being funny while Robyn, knowing full well that he was not, gave him a hard look.

While she was lead away to be reacquainted with the aristocracy, Dingo strode to the most isolated corner he could find. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying him any particular attention, then in a almost inaudible voice, whispered into apparently thin air.

"You hear me, mates? How's the weather up there?"

A second later, Yama's accented voice could be heard as if the gargoyle was standing right in front of him.

"We have checked and secured the perimeter. No suspicious activity thus far."

"And haven't even killed each other yet," Fang put in. "So live it up and get back to the party before boss lady puts you in a body cast for bailing on her."

He wandered around for a bit, paying half attention to the paintings, but keeping a closer eye on the guests. The nanites really were amazing. He could hear every word uttered with perfect clarity. It took some getting used to the overlapping sounds, but he was soon able to tune into individual conversations with little effort. So far nothing suspicious had popped up on his radar, and the evening had stretched into night. Almost certain that it would be turn out to be an uneventful outing, Dingo decided to satisfy his curiosity on other matters.

Robyn had been talking to a group of women in the far corner of the gallery before excusing herself to the ladies room or more likely, to check in with the rest of the team stationed outside. Figuring the rich and famous had nothing better to do than gossip, Dingo casually wandered over to the next painting to keep up the appearance of interest. He did not need to see the guests' faces to distinguish their voices.

"It's so good to see Robyn again," one woman was saying. "I wish Jason and Jonny would stop by sometime. It would be nice to see all the Canmore kids again."

"Ah they're probably all married off by now," another female voice. "Especially Jason. He was the spitting image of Charles when he was younger. I can only imagine how handsome he is now. Maybe he found a girl in the States. Robyn says they parted ways there."

"An American woman? What kind of Yankee could possibly be good enough for the crown prince of Scots?"

Dingo frowned. That was the second time in the evening he'd heard a reference like that, but he was damned if he knew what it meant. All the comments were so casual as if it was part of common knowledge that he was not in on. He raked his brain. Dingo had spent a few months in Europe when the pack was originally arrested, but he had been on the run and not exactly paying attention to politics. Scotland was part of Great Britain, he knew that much, and England had a monarchy in a symbolic sense.

The same Robyn Canmore who in the outback took him down in five seconds flat? A prim and proper princess? The idea was so absurd that he had to cover his mouth not to laugh and pretended to wipe his mustache. Dingo wondered if she knew the way these snots talked about her and her family. Knowing Robyn, she probably quietly tolerated the inside joke at best. He also wondered just how many bruises it would cost him in their next sparring match if he ever called her that. Filing the entertaining thought away, Dingo tuned back into the conversation.

"I cannot say I blame them for going abroad for love, especially the boys," the first woman spoke. "Half the people in this room wouldn't mind getting their hands on the Canmore name and money."

"Oh hush. Everyone here has more than enough as it is. Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder what Robyn's been doing with herself all these years. She was such a little darling when Charles brought her to events like this before."

"Slumming, from the looks of it."

Dingo stiffened.

"Laura!"

"I'm only saying what everyone here is thinking."

"I must say, I agree. Robyn is a sweet girl, but if the Canmore kids went abroad to find love, she went a little too far south, if you catch my drift."

The Australian's nostrils flared. Making as much effort not to draw attention to himself as he possibly could, Dingo stalked out of the main gallery and into the hallway.

"Still quiet?" he asked, knowing that his voice would be picked up by the nanites and carried to the trio on the rooftop. His patience was already stretched too thin, but it nearly broke completely when the reply came from Fang.

"Jeeze don't you two talk down there? We just told her there's nothing to report."

"A sight better than the action goin' on down here. Could use the quiet myself. Think I'll join you."

"Is something amiss?" asked Yama.

"Nope, everythin's ripper," his voice dripped with sarcasm. "See you soon."

The cool night air was a vast improvement on the air-conditioned museum. Dingo undid his tie, feeling somewhat better with the action. As soon as he could be back in his room and out of the stiff tuxedo, everything would be back to normal. Maybe he could even get a half hour down in the gym. Dingo would have loved to beat up something, even if it was just a punching bag.

He should have known he was not going to get off that easy. Moments after he left the museum, the sound of a single pair of footsteps echoed on the stone floor. They stopped a few feet away from him, and Dingo did not particularly want to turn around, knowing full well what he would find. Eventually he did, of course, and faced a very beautiful and very angry Robyn.

"Would you mind telling me what exactly you're doing out here?"

"Gettin' some fresh air," he spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "That a crime?"

"Oh, you're going to have to do better than that," she crossed her arms. "And don't tell me one of the others asked you out here."

Dingo pressed his lips together tightly. "Matrix, deactivate these nanites."

"Are you certain that is wise?" came the even emotionless voice.

"Just do it," he snapped. There was a slight tingle in his ear, and he saw Robyn touch hers as well. Apparently the AI assumed he meant both of them. Once he was sure no one else was listening in, he looked back up at her. "Why do the high and mighty in there seem think you're some kind of..." Dingo waved his hand as if looking for the right word, "royalty?"

Robyn looked puzzled. "Because of the Canmore name?"

"That's what I keep hearing. I wanna know what exactly that means."

"Harry, this really isn't the time or place..."

"Somehow I don't think this is a very long story. Satisfy my curiosity and be straight with me for once, if you think you can manage it."

She threw up her hands in a small frustrated gesture.

"My brothers and I are directly descendant from Malcolm III or Malcolm Canmore. He was the king of Scotland in the late eleventh century and one of the earliest Hunters. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Nice to make your acquaintance, your highness," he gave a small mocking bow.

Robyn was not amused. In fact, she looked like she wanted to strangle him. "What does it matter? Do you realize how many generations ago that was? You're just as likely to be related to the king of England."

That did nothing to improve his temperament, but Dingo found he was in no mood for a fight. He had no moral qualms about taking this to the mat, but he could not quite bring himself to issue a challenge to a woman in an evening gown. Things were infinity simpler when they were both in combat gear on so many levels.

"Why are you asking about this all of a sudden?" Robyn demanded.

"In case you didn't know," he tapped his right ear, indicating now deactivated the nanites, "these pick up some real interesting stuff."

"I don't eavesdrop on irrelevant conversations," she retorted.

"Maybe you should. Public opinion says the princess shouldn't be picking up stray dogs."

Her look changed from righteous anger to confusion and disbelief.

"Are you serious?" he said nothing. "This is ridiculous! First off, this," she indicated the space between them with a wave of her hand, "was for the mission. Second, since when do you care what people think?"

He wanted to yell at her, until suddenly he realized she was right. Sure, it had been nice to be seen as a hero again back in Australia, but since when did he care what a bunch of snobby rich aristocrats thought? Why _had_ it bothered him so much? Looking at her standing there, tall and proud, with just a hint of dying anger in her bright blue eyes, he knew precisely why. It only made things harder.

"You're right," he nodded. "This was just for the mission, and I don't care. Why don't you head back to the party, and I'll see you back in hq?"

Her anger returned in an instant, this time mixed with annoyance.

"Last time I checked, we're still on assignment."

"Funny 'cause last time _I_ checked, the gents said all's quiet on the western front."

As if on queue, three men dressed completely in black from head to toe save for the golden Illuminati emblems over their hearts litterbug dropped from the sky, landing on the ground between the pair with a hard thud. Or rather _were_ dropped. Yama and Fang glided down from the rooftops a second later. Matrix in the shape of a miniature helicopter hovered a few yards above.

"Do we get gold stars?" Fang grinned, his sharp canines glittering.

Dingo looked at Robyn.

"I'd call that mission accomplished."

* * * * * * * * * *

Even at almost four in the morning, Dingo's mind refused to shut down and sleep. He'd turned off the lights, but propped the pillows behind his back and turned on the television catching the middle of a hockey game. It served it's purpose of numbing his brain to a point where he did not have to think about that stupid party, stupid mission, or stupid Robyn Canmore for about a half hour. It might have been longer if he had bothered to lock the door.

The aforementioned woman stood in the doorway, manicured fingers still on the knob. It was the only part that still remained from the evening. The makeup and fancy dress were gone, replaced with a black tank-top and sweats and blond hair pulled back in a loose messy ponytail. Dingo cursed under his breath. Someone up there must really hate him. He made a pointed effort to look as annoyed as possible which was not that difficult.

"Ever heard of knocking?"

"You weren't entertaining company, and we need to talk," she said without preamble and came to stand in front of the television, arms crossed under her breasts. "You haven't been yourself all evening, starting with that unbelievably unattractive jealousy streak and ending with walking out in the middle of the mission. I'd like to know what's gotten into you."

Deja vu, coupled with a little role reversal. One had to wonder why they always tended to pick the middle of the night for these confrontations.

"Nothin'. I lost my head for a while. Won't happen again," he waved the remote at her. "Move. I wanna finish watching the replay."

Robyn glanced at the tv then turned it off. "The Canadians win."

"They were playin' the Russians."

"It doesn't matter who wins. I want to talk to you."

"At four in the bloody morning?"

"I seem to recall a time you badged into my room at one."

"You mean when you'd consumed enough alcohol to knock out a small elephant?"

"This is exactly what I mean! How can you be so kind and caring one day and such an ass the next?" she sounded tired and not a little exasperated. "I don't understand you, Harry."

"Maybe princess aren't meant to understand lowly commoners," he challenged.

"Stop it!" anger flashed across her face. "We're all here for a fresh start. It didn't matter before, and you know it means even less now."

"Matters to me."

"Why?"

He did not mean for it to slip out, but it did and now he could not bring himself to look her in the eyes. He'd already flushed most of his dignity down the toilet that day. Dingo had no desire to relinquish the rest. Robyn seemed to understand at least that much. She went back to the door and closed it, locking it for good measure. Then she came back to stand next to his bed, her posture not nearly as defensive as before. The rest of his resolve crumbled.

"I know it's not gonna happen," he looked down refusing to meet her demanding gaze, "but, I'd like to be able to pretend I could be good enough for you."

When he finally did look at her, her well-placed hard mask was nowhere in sight. Nor was there a hint of surprise or pity or anything of the sort on her beautiful face. Robyn was quiet for a long moment, then with a sigh sat down on the edge of the bed and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear. He was not sure if she knew just how little the close proximity did to put him at ease.

"It's a bad idea to make this personal, Harry," her voice came out in a whisper. "We're teammates. Chances are either of us could get killed on the next mission. Feelings... they get in the way in the middle of a firefight."

"Yeah, I get that," he agreed. "Don't worry. I..."

"So," she interrupted, slowly and deliberate moving onto the bed until she straddle his hips. "Let's agree that this," she repeated the thing-between-us gesture, "doesn't leave this room."

Still in mild shock, Dingo stared at her in complete astonishment.

"How drunk are you?" he demanded, and Robyn gave him a look. "How drunk am I?"

"Shut up and take it for what it is, Harry," she bent down and kissed him full on the mouth.

How could he argue with logic like that?

_**Author's End Note:**_ Tidbit #1 for those of you who didn't get the king of England reference, Greg Weisman has stated that the evolution of Dingo's character was somewhat based on Prince Hal (Henry V) from Shakespeare's "Henry IV" plays. Tidbit #2 about the Mona Lisa, I remember someone once asked Greg Weisman if that was the Mona Lisa hanging on the wall when the camera panned across Macbeth's mansion and he said "probably the real one, too." Since Robyn and Mac are distant – very distant – family, I figured she might know that.

There might possibly be an NC-17 version of this story with that last scene expanded at some future time. There will definitely be a third Dingo/Robyn fic in the near future, loosely tied to these two, which means the relationship will be already firmly established if not quite public knowledge. Hope you guys liked this!


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